The so-called Running Iris is a statue from the west pediment of the Parthenon in Athens. She is currently in the British Museum with the other Parthenon Marbles. I fell in love with her immediately. Something about the lines of the drapery, characteristic of the Classical period in the 5th century BC.
In her brokenness, she is beautiful. She has lost her head and face, the things that should create her character, but we still see who she is. She is a messenger, moving on the wind so fast that her thin dress clings to her legs. But we can't see her emotion. Is she running toward, or away? In context, we can see her running toward the birth of Athena Parthenos (the Maiden Athena), in whose honour the complex was named. But in isolation, she could be anyone, anywhere. She could be me.
Interestingly from an archaeological and art historical point of view, she was also the focus of the British Museum's new imaging technique this year that for the first time has found evidence of paint (Egyptian blue) on her belt. It's exciting because we knew - hypothetically - how brightly coloured the temple was from evidence on contemporary sculpture.
Running Iris, the British Museum
Photo, (c) Iris 2009
Photo, (c) Iris 2009
I suddenly remembered, when I was thinking about this at work the other day, that Iris is also the name of a Goo Goo Dolls song that meant a lot to me as a teenager.
I know this is corny, it really is, but I loved it;
I don't want the world to see me,
'Cos I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
So that's who I am, Iris. Running, hiding from the world, because I don't think that they'd understand. Maybe they won't, so I'll use this name for now. Something to hide behind.
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